


Promises

by missbeizy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Steve Rogers, Comfort, Demisexual Steve Rogers, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Rough Sex, Top Bucky Barnes, Virgin Steve Rogers, Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 02:09:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15653589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: Porn-and-feels in Wakanda comfort fic.





	Promises

Steve isn't there the first time Bucky regains full consciousness, and Bucky is good with that.

Opening his eyes, knowing at least partially who he is and being treated like a human being by the scientists, doctors and leaders who are helping him is worlds away from his experiences as a prisoner of Hydra. More than that; Wakanda is the technologically advanced society he spent years of his youth fantasizing about. How could he not enjoy every minute of this? While fully aware he is a guest and every experience granted to him here is a privilege, he feels at home in a way he hasn't since Brooklyn.

Which isn't to say they don't tease him about Steve. In fact, it’s almost as if they are daring him to ask questions about his absent friend—where is Steve, what is he doing, who is watching his six, _is_ anyone watching his six? So Bucky asks, both to amuse them and because he genuinely wants answers.

Shuri laughs, rolling her eyes at him as they walk through the jungle. "I knew it wouldn't take long."

It's nice to smile and mean it, not just shove his mouth into an approximation of one and hope he doesn't scare people away like he did those first few weeks thawed out. "Just wanna be sure."

She shrugs. "He asks about you. About the cryotube."

Bucky takes a deep breath and then releases it slowly. He's learned a lot in recent months—primarily, how to take every moment for exactly what it is and nothing more.

But much like everything else in the scrambled eggs of Bucky’s mind, his feelings for Steve are a challenge. They’ve orbited around each other since the dawn of their time—but the thought of being around Steve as he is now terrifies him. He is the amalgamation of several men whose lives he has lived, voluntarily and otherwise. Will Steve look at his long hair, tired face and missing arm and see the person who used to make him laugh when no one else could? Or will he see a monster?

"What do you say?" Bucky asks.

"I tell him I’ll check; my gelato should be set by now, freezes best just under Bucky’s right elbow—"

Bucky smiles. "Bet he spit like a cat."

"Your man is slow on the uptake, huh." Her phrasing makes Bucky's stomach flip, but he doesn't comment on it. Wakanda has taught him the value of thinking before speaking. When the silence stretches on too long, she continues. "As fun as it is to tease him—" Bucky raises an eyebrow in solidarity. "—I would update him on your situation, if you are comfortable with that."

Bucky emotions shuffle through joy, fear and sorrow before settling on a roiling anxiety that ricochets off his ribs and settles in his belly like a stone. It would be good for them—and the idea feels right, inevitable, the same way Bucky felt going into cryo.

"We could talk, I guess." He stops to watch morning sunlight filter hazily through the dense foliage. The noise of jungle life buzzes around him, filling him with peace and humility. "On the phone?"

Mischief dances in Shuri's eyes. "Men. Hopeless."

 

*

 

"Hi?" he asks the crackle down the line. There's a problem with the connection on Steve's end—they had to make sure the call would be secure, so it wasn't as simple as dialing a burner phone.

Bucky remembers being a charming young man, though that person is more akin to the memory of a relative than anything else. He remembers being an assassin who vacillated between feeling nothing and too much—violence ruled him for so long that being a _person_ wasn't possible. Now, he's a blending of both men trying to fit yet again into a new shape. But hearing Steve's voice makes everything momentarily as clear as a bell. It seems Steve is still his compass, even thousands of miles away.

"Hi. Hey." Steve's tone is soft. "How are you?"

"Good. Uh. Yeah, good. I mean, it's day-to-day."

It's awkward. It's so awkward it _hurts_.

"So they tell me," Steve says.

"How long has it been?" Bucky asks.

"Since you went into cryo?"

"Since you visited me in cryo."

Steve laughs under his breath. "Six months ago. I think. Sorry, uh. It’s hard keeping track of time how I'm living right now."

Warmth spills through Bucky's body, filling him with a hunger he hasn't felt in a long time. It's good. It's more than good. So good he stops overthinking the conversation.

"You sleepin' rough?"

Steve’s voice sounds closer to the phone. "I'd ask if you're serious, but I can hear that smile, Buck."

_Oh._

"Just making sure you aren't trying to be a martyr. I know you've got friends out there. And in here."

Another raspy laugh, another pause. "Only friend I'm concerned with is talking to me right now."

Bucky's vision goes blurry with sudden wetness. His jaw ticks as he tries to remain calm.

When he doesn't say anything, Steve exhales into the silence. "Being a sap. Sorry." Bucky hears shuffling noises in the background. "How long you been out of cryo?"

"Two, three months, give or take. I was unconscious a lot in the beginning."

"And you're making progress?"

Bucky's mouth tries to smile. "Some. Yeah. Living on my own now. Getting treatment. Learning new skills. Trying to talk to people." That’s not all Steve wants to hear, so he adds, “Trigger words are gone. Most of the conditioning, too.”

The pause there is much longer, and so quiet Bucky worries they've been disconnected.

Steve inhales through his nose loudly. "That's incredible. How did they—"

Bucky closes his eyes. Starving for the sound of that voice. "Worried about me?"

"Eh, I dunno. Been real busy. You know how it is, pal."

Bucky realizes Steve is messing with him, and the hunger in his gut expands—doubles, triples, turns cartwheels—and he might be breathing too fast when he replies, "You little _shit_."

Steve laughs. "Mm. That's more like it."

The exchange leaves Bucky sweat-soaked and adrenaline-shook but in a good way, like shedding an old skin to reveal new growth underneath. He smiles to himself, cradling the phone closer.

"Look. Uh. So, yeah, you're right, and. Listen. I don't know what your situation is."

"As stable as it can be," Steve says.

_Okay. Okay. Okay._

_Why is this so difficult?_

Steve continues. "So, um. Now that you're more independent..."

The hunger inside Bucky sprouts limbs and a mouth.

"Yes," he blurts, before Steve finishes speaking.

"Uh."

"Please. Yes."

The connection blows up with static when Steve exhales shakily. "Okay. Okay. When—"

"Now?"

Steve laughs like he's still remembering how.

 

*

 

Bucky forgets to consider little things, like the appearance of his hut and his person. He forgets to ask where Steve will be staying. The local kids notice his struggle and offer to help. They decorate his hut and make things "right" for his guest; thoughtful gestures of welcome Bucky would never have thought to make himself.

Talking to them is how he finds out Steve intends to stay with him. For a temporary but not brief length of time. In a hut that will be erected for him beside Bucky's.

" _What_ ," Bucky says to T'Challa.

"He politely declined accommodations at the palace."

"He what?"

"According to him, this would have created too much time 'in transit'."

Bucky groans. "But he's an idiot. Do people still not realize he's an _idiot_?"

T'Challa smiles, full and bright. "I do not believe that is the issue, my friend."

 

*

 

Construction begins on the hut. Bucky feeds the crew of workers lunch and then picks up a hammer.

 

*

 

Steve spends the first three hours of his stay with the royal family. Bucky expected that and planned around it, using the time to make sure his area is presentable and Steve's hut ready for occupation. He intentionally leaves himself extra things to do in the hopes that time might pass faster.

They've talked on the phone in recent weeks, but three days of radio silence while Steve made his way safely to Wakanda has left Bucky vibrating like a plucked harp string. When he receives the message that Steve is on his way, that vibration soars in pitch and volume. He can't sit still. He doesn’t want to roam too far. He paces inside, then decides to pace outside where the sun is hot overhead.

Steve shimmers like a mirage coming over the brow of the hill. He wears a dark blue tac suit, a full beard and no visible weapons. His eyes are tired; his smile unsure. Like Bucky, he is an oddity here.

Bucky freezes in a rictus of self-doubt.

They stare at each other through a haze of dusty sunlight that swims around all that golden hair, in front of those green-blue-gray eyes, making him almost _glow_. In return, he takes Bucky in—his face, hair, the slope of his shoulders, the empty space where his other arm used to be, the sandals on his feet.

What if this is not enough? What if _he_ is not enough?

"Buck," Steve sighs, his face softening with affection.

Bucky closes the distance between them, wraps his hand around the back of Steve's neck and pulls him down and in. Steve folds like a house of cards, his big, broad body finding a home against Bucky's. He smells like the food he ate at the palace and air travel with faint notes of musk and sweetness beneath.

Bucky makes a soft, desperate noise before he can stop it. Steve is so _strong_ —and yet, to Bucky, he will always be little Stevie Rogers first. Bucky forgot just how much that meant to him until now. They cling to each other shamelessly. He tightens his grip on the back of Steve's neck before releasing him to look at his face—there are more lines than before, and strands of silver in his beard and hair.

Bucky pats his cheek. "Look at you, huh."

Steve’s crow's feet deepen when he laughs. "Not putting much effort into it, but thanks." His gaze wanders. "You look good." When their eyes meet again, Steve's are wider and brighter, but his mouth turns down as he swallows with difficulty. "You look like you."

"You" doesn’t indicate Bucky Barnes or the Winter Soldier. “You” simply means _you_ , as you are, however and wherever that is. It’s a lot to take in.

Bucky releases him slowly, hoping he won’t notice Bucky’s shaking hand. "Let me show you around."

 

*

 

For the most part, they are left to their own devices.

Steve is quiet but present, approaching every new experience in a genuinely interested but deeply exhausted way. They share meals. They spend a significant portion of each day exploring the wonders of Bucky's temporary home.

Bucky learns almost nothing about what Steve has been up to, but throwaway comments indicate he's been busting his ass and is lonely as hell.

 

*

 

On day five, Bucky finds Steve sprawled face-up and snoring on the pallet in his hut. It makes him happy that Steve felt safe enough to pass out here.

Steve wakes almost instantly, sitting up on his elbows—his shirt pulls tight across his chest, and Bucky goes hot down the back of his neck. Sleepy eyes brighten and crinkle as Steve leans over Bucky's lap for the water jug behind him. "Hey. Therapy good?"

"Today was a massage day."

The bridge across Steve’s nose darkens. "That’s good. That, uh, works for you?"

"Getting there." He wants to share more. He's been almost as close-mouthed as Steve, this week. "Healers here are easy to trust. They project their intentions, and their intentions are always good."

Steve sits up, folding his legs in front of him. He looks like a big kid. "Do they massage just your—" He motions to Bucky's arm and shoulder.

"Mostly upper body now, yeah, but I get the full treatment sometimes."

Something about this admission refreshes the full-body blush Bucky has become accustomed to since Steve arrived. The air between them is warm and heavy as Steve watches him intently.

 

*

 

Bucky regrets suggesting they visit the lake every time, because _every time_ he promises himself he's not going to stare, and _every time_ Steve takes off most of his clothing and—

_Fuck._

The appeal isn't new. It was there when Steve was younger and smaller. It was there when Steve rescued the 107th looking like a young girl’s steamiest American soldier fantasy.

Gender was never a deciding factor for Bucky, so keeping his attraction to men to himself, especially when that information could get him arrested and/or killed, was not a hardship.

Except for when it was.

Except for now when there is nothing to keep him from innocently reveling in it.

Except for Steve's beautiful body, like something out of a museum, sinking into blue water, waves lapping at skin that's still milky where the sun has yet to bake it, at the jutting swell of Steve's breast, at the tiny circle of his waist, at the proud curve of his high, full buttocks, soaking the undergarment he wears into the water, pulling the darkened fabric tight across ludicrously cut hips and a flat belly.

Bucky moves his satchel in front of himself.

Wanting Steve may be old hat, but _this_ hasn't been a problem for as long as he can remember.

 

*

 

Since the local kids have been warned to leave the cranky old white men alone, Bucky visits them on days Steve seems to need solitude. He brings them treats and trinkets he makes for them, and savors their happy faces. Their regard humbles him, considering all the terrible things he did—

_No. No. It wasn't like that._

When he walks back up the hill that evening, Steve notices the shuttered look on Bucky's face. He puts a large serving platter down on the table they set up outside for the evening meal. "Bad visit?"

"Did you cook?"

"Ha, no. I fetched it, though." He smiles. "Probably should have lied and said I did. Would have been more impressive, right?"

Bucky scoffs. "About as close as you get to domestic godliness is a hot plate."

"And even there, I face challenges."

Bucky laughs, surprised at how fast it comes considering how much time he spent hating himself on the way home. He sits at the table. As they eat, he decides to explain before Steve asks again.

"Had some intrusive thoughts visiting the kids. How innocent they are. How good. And them liking a—someone like me. Why?"

Steve doesn't rush to reassure or correct him. "That happens a lot, I guess."

"Yeah. It's not like—I got over it and there's no going back. Some days are good. Some days are bad."

Steve smiles. "I get that. Truly. And, uh, for the record, I may have received some coaching regarding your recovery and what _not_ to say."

Bucky laughs. "I expected more hemming and hawing, gotta admit."

 

*

 

They walk across a field of flowers under full moonlight, a star-laden sky stretching on into infinity above their heads.

Steve wears a pair of boots, pants, and a loose white button-down that flows around him like water when he moves. He looks rugged and rested.

Bucky collects fallen flowers and slowly weaves a chain one-handed as they walk. When it's done he tosses it around Steve's shoulders like a rope and uses it to draw him in.

Steve laughs, allowing himself to be inched forward. "New skill?"

"Bet your ass."

"Could. But will I?"

With a scoff, Bucky loops the excess flower chain around the crown of Steve's head, then fakes an overwhelmed sniffle, waving his hand. "And just like that, his ugly mug was beautiful."

"Hm." Steve fiddles with the ends of the rope and then, without warning, tugs on them, causing Bucky to step forward into his chest.

Bucky freezes. Steve laughs and ruffles his hair. "Oh, you're asking for it." He tackles Steve into a patch of dirt. They roll around, smashing clumps of earth into each other's hair and clothing, goosing weak spots until they're a mess. After, they lay on the cool, sweet-smelling earth, breathing rapidly.

"Soon as I came out of that machine, I knew no one would see me in this body," Steve says. Surprised by the topic change, Bucky looks at him directly. "Except you—and Peggy, maybe." Bucky wants to look away but doesn't. Steve's expression saddens. "You saw me. And that hasn't changed."

Out of his depth, Bucky awkwardly pats the side of Steve's head. "Sure hasn't, pal."

And then Steve turns his cheek into Bucky's palm and everything _stops_.

Steve fixes him with a tired but determined gaze. Bucky risks a return glance. Steve's lips are parted. His shirt is so loose it rides low over one shoulder, exposing a stretch of collarbone. Strands of hair try to escape over his ears. He is so handsome Bucky can't breathe around it.

"You make me feel small again," Steve whispers into Bucky's palm.

The lack of light makes it difficult to tell if Steve's face is as flushed as it feels.

Bucky's heart slams against his ribs."That a good thing?" He has high hopes about where this path may lead, but the casual mention of Agent Carter makes him hesitate. At the same time, Steve breathes against his palm, making every hair on his body stand on end.

Steve's eyelashes tickle the inside of his fingers. “Yeah, Buck.”

Bucky gently pets Steve's cheek. Seems like a safe choice to him, given Steve started it. As they go on, Steve makes soft, grateful noises that are new even to Bucky as Steve turns into every stroke.

Most of the time Steve is seven gallons of piss and vinegar in a five gallon pail, so having him curled up on the tall grass with his big body twisted toward Bucky and his thick beard against Bucky's hand as he rubs his face there like a touch-starved kitten is an exciting and instantly addictive chance of pace.

Bucky almost mentions the kitten thought, then realizes how stupid he would sound. Instead, he traces his thumb across Steve's cheekbone. “Oh, doll.”

Steve's pupils widen. A heartbeat later, he presses an open mouth to the center of Bucky's palm and moans. He doesn't speak again, only stays there, hidden in Bucky's shadow, until he falls asleep.

 

*

 

Three weeks later, they still haven't acknowledged what happened. Bucky can't take the silence anymore, so when an invitation to a dinner party at the palace arrives he all but pounces on it, accepting graciously on his and Steve's behalf.

Bucky borrows a set of respectable formal wear—a long robe over pants, black with blue trim and accents. They twist his hair into a tight, neat bun and massage lotion into his beard. Steve wears a tac suit similar to the one he arrived in, only upgraded in ways Bucky intends to ask about later.

The dinner party itself is a small gathering of friends and family. Bucky and Steve eat and talk and share stories of their tame adventures. They receive as many side-eyes and baffled looks as they do smiles and friendly laughter, but that's only natural; they're strangers here.

There's dancing between courses. They watch, happy to play spectator, until one of the young warriors Bucky is friends with drags them out onto the dancing mats and shows them how to participate.

They're both out of their element and tense about it; Bucky can never be sure how he's going to react in social situations like this, and Steve can't dance for shit. Forgetting the current unease between them, Bucky laughs watching him try. He looks up at Bucky in the middle of a fumbled step and giggles, tripping over his own foot.

Bucky's tired of pretending he hasn't noticed how good Steve looks in his new suit. He's also plain tired—it's been a hell of a week, and parties are a lot for him.

Steve picks up on his discomfort. After politely conveying their thanks and goodbyes, he tugs on Bucky's sleeve.

"Wanna get out of here?"

 

*

 

One shuttle ride and a change of clothes later, they climb the winding vertical path behind Bucky's hut to a small, partially-hidden waterfall and pool.

When Bucky first woke up, he had difficulty living full-time in the hut (too exposed). He needed a more private place to hide, at times to actually put his head under water and disappear, and this spot was the most conveniently located of several the locals gave him permission to use.

Steve's eyes go wide at the sight of lush greenery hugging the clearing, mist rolling across the surface of the pool and white noise filling the air. He puts his toe in the water. "The temperature changes!"

"I asked them how it works." Bucky smiles. "They told me to mind my business."

Steve laughs, kicking off in a circle in before going far enough to tread water. His thick arms sway, working to keep his body afloat. Water glistens on his skin and hair. His nipples bob at the water line, dark smudges in the moonlight. He smiles at Bucky, almost coyly. "Forgot your swim trunks?"

_Sweet hell._

Bucky does not and would never use the word "torture" lightly, but this...

Steve takes a mouthful of water and then spits it back out in an arch before licking his lips to catch the flavor. He swims backwards, tilting his head. "C'mon, Buck."

The pool isn't large enough for much activity, so there's only so much treading water they can do before the only object of interest remaining is each other.

Steve playfully swims circles around him.

"Making me dizzy," Bucky says.

Steve puts a hand on top of his head and dunks him before he can do anything about it other than be grateful the drool will wash off his chin under water. They play in the water for a while, avoiding direct contact, and then Bucky drags Steve over to a flat rock situated close to the base of the waterfall. Steve sits on the rock's edge, legs dangling over the side, body streaming water, hair plastered to his head and his undergarment glued to him, dark and heavy with water. Bucky sits besides him, facing the trees.

“Changes like the water. That's nice,” Steve says. “Kinda small, though.”

"Not made for two guys our size, I guess."

"You come here a lot?"

"Sure. Good place to be alone."

"What, no one interested in the weird-looking out-of-towner?"

Bucky smiles, looking down at his hand. "The me you remember came off as a real Casanova, huh?"

Steve frowns. "I guess I saw what you wanted me to see."

"Eh, nah. I loved stepping out. Felt good to make women happy. But I never got as far, as often as I let on. Was just easier to—" He stops before he says "make sure everyone knew I wasn't queer".

Steve drips, watches Bucky and tilts his head. "To...?"

"Everyone likes you when you're good with women."

"I suppose so." Steve's gaze grows distant.

Bucky is frustrated by his own inability to express what he means. He tries again. "You're not 'everyone', you know. You—I only wanted to impress you."

Those beautiful eyes light up again. "Yeah?"

Bucky didn't think about his inappropriate feelings for Steve, not in any constant or voluntary way, until they were separated by the war. Only then did he realize Steve was his "sweetheart back home". After their reunion there wasn't time for anything like that, especially not after years of silence and denial, and there was Peggy, and then Bucky was gone and Steve was gone and everything was darkness and horror, and then years of pain, so much pain, and decades of blood, fucking rivers of it—

"You okay?" Steve asks.

Bucky squints hard enough to make colors pop behind his eyelids, then breathes out shakily. He is okay. Those times are over. They can't come back, because the people who did that to him are gone and the words are gone and Steve would never _let_ them—

He gasps and flinches when Steve puts a hand on his. "...sorry."

"I should have asked about your, ah, boundaries." Steve traces the back of Bucky's hand. "Are you okay with this? Is there any part of you I shouldn't touch?"

_No. Not you. Not ever._

Bucky shakes his head, not breaking eye contact, though he wants to.

Steve gives him time to pull away before carding fingers through his hair from his temple all the way over his skull and down the back of his neck. He leans into it before he can stop himself, inhaling shakily, audibly, as Steve's fingers close around the nape of his neck.

"Good?" Steve's voice is rough as sandpaper.

Bucky nods without looking up and Steve continues touching him, briskly petting his face and hair, mostly—but then those powerful fingers find his earlobes and neck. Bucky struggles to appear unaffected. The sensations layer and layer and _last_ , making his cock throb against his thigh.

Steve's thumb catches the corner of his mouth, taking him by surprise, and he moans and parts his lips. Steve gauges his reaction, then drags his thumb over Bucky's open mouth. Bucky's cock lifts off his leg and panic rockets through him. He wants Steve, badly, but this is almost _too_ intense.

Sensing this, Steve puts his thumb back on Bucky’s cheek. "Hey. Shh. Relax, okay? I got you."

After an embarrassingly long stretch of time, Bucky's eyes are dry, he's stopped shaking and his cock has received the message to abort mission loud and clear.

He's asleep before his head makes it to Steve's shoulder.

 

*

 

Bucky’s recollection of that night is hazier than he'd like, but he remembers moving around a lot. Even though the rock adjusted temperature, it still wasn't an ideal sleeping surface. Steve balled up their shirts for makeshift support, but they ended up using each other as pillows when that proved insufficient. They were unwilling to part despite the discomfort, just like when they were younger.

Bucky can’t stop thinking about it. Small or large, Steve has an effortless effect on him.

Relief comes in the form of massage day, but when he arrives, he is told his appointment was canceled. He doesn’t want to ask too many questions, especially considering this is the first time it's happened.

When he returns home, he finds Steve playing a game that involves paddles and a floating ball with the local kids. They're obviously teasing Steve, but he seems to be enjoying himself. Bucky doesn't want to interrupt their fun, so he sits underneath a tree and watches without calling out to them.

"Hey!" Steve shouts when he notices Bucky, holding a ball above the kids’ heads. "Everything okay?"

"Appointment was canceled."

He jogs over to Bucky after surrendering the ball to delighted squeals. "Is that unusual?"

"I'm happy with whatever resources they spare me. Didn't ask."

Steve is nearly sunburn-red down the swooping neckline of his shirt. Sweat glistens at his hairline as hunches over in Bucky’s direction. "Sure, yeah. Of course."

They spend the rest of the afternoon with the kids, then fix an evening meal big enough for everyone. Bucky cooks while Steve happily fetches and washes. By the time their guests leave, Bucky vibrates with contentment—his day is ending much better than it began.

After changing into pajamas separately, they settle down together in Steve's hut.

"I'm not gonna brag," Bucky says, folding his arms behind his head where he lays on Steve's sleeping mat, “but my hut is much nicer than yours."

Steve laughs. "Guy in charge of goats needs his creature comforts."

Bucky rolls over onto his side—moving takes some of the weight off his shoulder, which makes laughing hurt less.

"You in pain?" Steve asks.

"Always am. Less and less, but."

"You missed your rub-down today," Steve says. Bucky looks at him directly. Can't imagine what to say to that. Steve looks down at his own hands. "I could help."

_Fuck._

"I took boxing lessons from Joe Vitali. Cried in my soup every night ‘cause I was too proud to complain to him. You rubbed ointment into my arms."

"You remembering is always gonna surprise me." Steve smiles. "Sure you don't want any help?"

Bucky's weaved towards refusal since his first deflective silence, but now that they've arrived here he wants to say yes. Before he overthinks the situation, he rolls over onto his stomach and forces himself to relax the way he does on the massage table. "I'll tell you what to do."

"Fine by me." Steve retrieves a bottle of lotion. “This work?"

Bucky takes off his shirt while Steve isn’t looking. "Sure."

Steve kneels between his calves, then presses the inside of his legs with the outside of his own so he can kneel forward, settling between Bucky’s thighs.

The lotion has no smell but it's cold, and when Steve drizzles a line between his shoulder blades he inhales sharply, goosebumps flowering across his bare back.

"Too cold?" Steve spreads the lotion with his thumbs.

_That, too._

"Yeah-h."

"It'll warm up."

_Oh, it sure will, pal._

After brief instruction on where to press and how hard, Steve begins. He's not a natural, but once he figures out what works and where the difficult spots are the massage improves and Bucky relaxes enough to enjoy it. Until he goes at the area around Bucky's missing arm like it insulted his ma.

" _F-fuck_."

Steve stops. "Bad?"

"You a comedian now?"

Steve laughs. "Okay. Gotcha." He shifts his weight to focus on Bucky's injured side. After a while, Steve gives his shoulder a break, pressing down the length of his spine instead. They fan out across his lower back, then dig into the meat above his buttocks, just over the waistband of his pants.

It’s too much.

Bucky's back arches, which allows his cock freedom to spread out and brings sudden friction to every sensitive inch of him. For lack of a better idea, he freezes in place. Steve stops, too, but Bucky still feels him between his legs, his hands hovering over Bucky’s hips like birds denied a perch.

Mortification recedes long enough for Bucky to realize Steve is breathing rapidly and giving off heat like a furnace. And then he makes a noise Bucky hasn't heard since they shared a bedroom in Brooklyn.

 _Oh, fuck. Oh fuck. Oh_ fuck _._

"Stevie?"

Steve moans and twitches again.

Feeling less frantic now his own embarrassment isn't the only one on display, Bucky rolls over, sits up and covers his lap with a pillow in one motion. Steve is sitting low on his knees, trying and failing to hide the mess he's made of himself. Bucky forces his eyes north when he realizes Steve is still tenting his pants. He must carry a permit for that thing.

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry." Steve looks worse than Bucky feels. "I would never—"

Bucky tilts his head. "Serum got you on a hair-trigger?"

Steve stares at him blankly. "You could say that."

"You’re redder than Christmas."

Another pause, and then Steve blurts, "It won’t go away. Um. Sorry."

"...ever?"

Steve laughs hysterically, but it's not actually funny, and his erection is pushing against his pants like it's found magnetic north, and Bucky isn't going to look at it, he is _not_. "Takes more than once."

"How many?"

"Two, three. Usually."

_...usually?_

Bucky considers their situation—and only then feels the wet spot on his back. No pillow in the world could hide his reaction; his face goes as red as Steve's.

Steve is obviously too embarrassed to even form the question. "Did I..."

Bucky's watches Steve's pulse dance in his throat. "Uh. Yeah." Steve moves to stand. Bucky balances on his knees and grabs his shoulder. "Do I look offended, bud?"

"Nothing like that should happen without your permission."

"Appreciate that." Smiling, he puts a knee between Steve's, telegraphing his intention to move closer. Steve's bottom lip drops as their eyes meet. "Two or three times, huh?"

Steve is magnificent up close—that plush beard and the lines on his face that weren't there before and shoulders wider than Bucky's field of vision. "Never tested it with anyone."

"Didn't want to scare 'em off after round one?" Bucky leans forward, letting their chests touch.

Steve’s breath is warm and sweet on his face. "Ha. More like round zero."

Bucky doesn't break eye contact as he raises his hand and lets it hover over Steve's chest. Steve rocks forward into his palm. "Flying solo this whole time, huh?" He can't resist spreading his fingers as wide as they can go over Steve's left pec. "You got a one-dollar gold watch you wanna sell me, too?" As soon as the words leave his mouth he knows it was the wrong thing to say. Steve's eyes dart away and his whole body stiffens. "Shit. Sorry. You’re not joking."

"Can't tell you how many times it almost happened. It just never felt right past a certain point. Despite, ah, my anatomy often having a different opinion."

He traces the proud jut of Steve's nose with his own. Steve breathes rapidly through parted lips and Bucky smells the panic in him, an ozone shiver of almost, but not quite, letting go. Because that's what he’s trying to do; find release with someone he trusts. It just took Bucky until now to figure that out.

"Lay down for me."

Steve pulls away, his eyes wide. "What?"

Bucky presses against the pec under his hand. “Lay down, Stevie.”

Steve unfolds his legs and sits back until he's reclined but still propped up on his elbows. Bucky looks at him—and what a picture he makes. Those long legs and thick thighs and the bulge in his pants and his nipples pushing against his shirt and his hair falling around his ears and the wet spots all over his pants and shirt where he—everywhere—

Overwhelmed, Bucky takes a breath. He hasn't fucked a man since World War II, and he doesn’t want to think about those times here and now. But kneeling between Steve's thighs, he feels powerful—and if he lets himself reach for it, confidence is right around the corner.

“Put your arms above your head and keep ‘em there,” Bucky says. Steve frowns in confusion. "We aren't exactly equal in the hand department. Gimme a handicap, pal."

Laughing, Steve sprawls like a mountain cat, drawing his massive shoulders and chest up into an enticing, almost inverted shape. Relief plays across his features—Bucky isn't sure why, but that was the right thing to do. He slides his arm under and around Steve's neck and shoulders to brace against the other side, both for balance and to keep Steve close. Bucky hovers, then settles between Steve's thighs. The heat and strength of Steve's body practically vibrates, it's so pronounced.

"Lose your shirt?" Bucky asks.

"Can't."

Bucky frowns, feeling awkward. "Okay."

Steve's teeth press into pillowy flesh of his lower lip. "You’re gonna have to do it. My arms are busy."

_Fuck._

Shaking, Bucky slips his fingers under the hem of Steve's shirt and slides it up and off. "Sensitive?" He's not asking what he wants to ask, even as he touches those glorious, soft-over-hard mounds. Steve's nipples bead up under his fingers and then his fingertips when he pinches them.

"Oh, god," Steve moans, arching his back.

"What set you off before?" Bucky asks, not stopping. "Is it always that easy?"

Steve breathes off-rhythm, his head tipped back, his big body trying so hard to stay still and get what it wants at the same time. "Y-you—making noise. Rocking into me. Don't think you realized."

Bucky twists the flesh of Steve's pecs. "Yeah. I believe that. Was drilling a hole in the bed."

"Ha- _aah_ ," Steve whines. His concentration turns inward, and then his churning pelvis stills and his arms twitch, every muscle and vein standing out. "If you keep doing that—"

Bucky groans, and it spills out before he can stop it, "Just from me playing with your tits?"

Steve's pupils dilate a moment before he comes a second time. Bucky is unprepared for the sight of that huge cock pulsing, jerking and unloading repeatedly, making the whole area over Steve's crotch go dark. He twists with the force of his orgasm but doesn't move his arms. "Mm. There we go. Better?"

"Yes," Steve gasps, his eyes rolling open and back as he thrusts against nothing. "Y-yes."

A lazy trickle of white drips up his belly from beneath the waistband of his pants. Bucky's mouth goes dry. "Pants off?"

"You too?"

It takes some rearranging, but eventually they're naked and Bucky lowers himself back down, bracing his torso against Steve's and putting his arm back under Steve's neck and shoulder.

He eases their cocks together without breaking eye contact. It's hot and sticky and too much, Bucky's skin shivering with the overload until Steve goes easy as spring rain under him, the heels of his feet setting themselves against the back of Bucky's calves.

"Hey," he croons, sinking his fingers into Steve's hair and roughly massaging his scalp. "How about we do this one together, pal?"

"Oh, god, _Buck_." Steve whines low in his throat, high-pitched and short, when Bucky rubs their cocks together. Bucky presses his face into Steve's neck and lets out the moan he's been holding, can't suppress it with that hot throbbing cock—damp at the head, sticky along the shaft where come dried—catching one second and gliding smoothly the next, right up against his, balls soft as velvet below, Steve's legs inching up around his hips, hands twisting above his head.

He drags his lips down the blood-hot curve of Steve's ear. "I used to dream about you under me." Steve sobs softly. "Body was tiny then." He kisses Steve's ear and temple and finally his neck, knowing he's being rough and sloppy—it's been too long—but it's starting to feel natural and he refuses to let go of that so long as Steve's on board. "So fucking small, thought if I did anything I'd break you."

"Buck," Steve moans.

"Yeah. You got another one?" He kisses down Steve's jaw, sometimes biting at it, sometimes not. He's gonna come and it's too soon but his self-control is still hit or miss at best and Steve’s cock is thrusting up and down the length of his, until Bucky pins his hips, so he can fuck down against its silky heat.

"Never knew whether I wanted to be you or your date," Steve gasps, letting Bucky use him. Bucky rhythmically tugs the hair at the back of his head—and he comes again, suddenly; not as wet as before, but enough to paint his ribs and drag a surprised cry out of him.

" _Stevie_." Bucky moans and bites down on Steve's shoulder and comes. It's like dying for about six seconds—his vision and hearing dim and his inner ear betrays him, offering up vertigo that is so intense it almost feels good. The space between their chests and bellies is _wrecked_.

Steve digs his heels into Bucky's ass to pull him closer, then haltingly turns his head into Bucky's hair and shoulder, trying to get closer, more. Fuck, he has no idea what he's doing—his big hungry body just _needs_ it. "Please." His belly goes concave between his ribs, his round tits jutting up and his fat cock red and swollen and come-streaked dancing on his abs, and then, "Please. _Please_. Wanna touch you."

"That the price I gotta pay for another one?" Bucky rasps. "Go ahead." Whimpering, Steve wraps his arms around Bucky's shoulders, eliminating the space between them.

Held in place and free to move his arm, Bucky does so with relief. He digs his fingernails into Steve's flank, brushing his open mouth up Steve's jaw. He drags his knuckles over Steve’s come-streaked hip.

Steve spreads his legs. "Please—"

“Want my hand?” Bucky skims his palm over Steve’s belly.

Steve’s eyes roll back, his face cherry red and sweat-ringed. His skin quivers under Bucky’s hand. “If you touch me—"

Bucky pants slow and steady, unable to look away. "Gonna come, doll?"

" _Fuck_."

The weight of Steve’s cock in his hand is delicious. It's red-tipped and its slit is swollen and gaping and there’s so goddamned much of it. "You like that?"

Steve shudders. "S-sore."

Bucky smiles sharply. "Want me to stop?"

Steve holds on tighter. "N-no, one more, just one more—please don't stop." He jerks as he gets closer, obviously experiencing as much pain as pleasure. Bucky shifts his grip to the top of Steve's cock and strokes him faster, bending over him, panting in sympathy, so hot and wound up Bucky might as well be waiting to come himself. He presses their foreheads together when it becomes too much.

Steve's cock goes off in his hand dry, the abused slit winking at the opening of his fist. Sobbing wetly, still coming, Steve turns his cheek and slots their mouths together.

Everything comes into focus; dizziness in reverse. Bucky opens his eyes just to watch Steve's face before closing them again. Steve's cock throbs, soft and soaked on his belly, trapped between them. He kisses back when he remembers vaguely how, dipping his tongue into Steve's mouth when Steve's finds the seam of his. Steve is bright-eyed and boneless when they separate, and helps Bucky clean them off with a damp rag before pulling the blankets over them.

“Stay?” Bucky whispers.

Steve pulls Bucky’s arm around his waist with a soft hum.

 

*

 

Bucky wakes up the next morning, and wonders if they've made a mistake—for the ten seconds it takes Steve to let out a squeaky noise as he stirs, his back glued to Bucky's chest. His flushed, happy face turns into view—a weary, rough profile with a pronounced nose that Bucky thinks of too often.

"Just like when we were kids." His voice sounds like something that went through a woodchipper.

Steve’s ass is all but searching for his morning erection. "You can say that again."

How could Bucky forget how naked and sex-filthy they are? The feel of those wide shoulders and that tiny waist so close. Steve's dirty belly—dried come flaked across his skin. He smells like a man, musk-tangy and sharp, sourdough bread and clean sweat. Bucky is so hard he can't think.

"Used to wake up like this every time you kept me warm." Steve's chest lifts as he inhales shakily, his head dropping onto Bucky's shoulder. "Good thing about being sickly was I never worried about you, ah, noticing. Half the time I couldn't get it up."

Bucky watches Steve's cock fill slowly on his belly, the wide mushroom head swelling with blood. He flattens his hand against Steve's chest, massaging his pec and nipple. Steve moans, and a drop of precome weeps from his slit.

“This big body feels so much, huh?” Bucky breathes.

The blush on Steve's—well, _everything_ , deepens, and he buries his face in the hollow of Bucky's jaw. "It can." He drops unsure, hungry, wet kisses down Bucky’s neck. “Right now? It’s all you.”

"Yeah?" He twists Steve's nipple, then digs his fingers into the flesh they crown. “What about before? All those people you tried with.”

"Got set up at work a lot in the beginning. Was easier because they already knew who I was." Bucky pets Steve's belly above his cock, which is fully hard and drooling precome in a way Bucky has never experienced, a long, shivering strand already hanging off the tip. "Second my date wanted more than heavy petting—I just couldn’t do it. They didn't understand. Some blamed me, some themselves, some were polite about it. Figured what was the point? Stopped trying. And then there was no time for it."

Not sure how to respond, Bucky kicks the blankets off them to buy himself time to think. As he strokes Steve's hips and pelvis, Steve’s thighs fall gradually farther apart, one leg bending at the knee with its foot braced against the mat beneath them to encourage the exposure. Bucky slides farther between his legs and up, grunting at the unexpected weight of his full, hot balls falling against his thigh.

"Still sore?" Bucky asks.

"Nah. Bet all the marks are gone, too."

"Marks?"

Steve's cock is wet at the tip with clear precome. "You bit the shit out of me last night. My whole neck and shoulder, and your h-hands—finger marks—fuck, please." His chest rises and falls rapidly.

Bucky groans. "Focus, bud. Need to be sure about something."

"Oh my god, now?" Steve thrusts into nothing, his cock full and bobbing.

"You doing this because _you_ want to, or your dick wants to?"

"B-both. Both. Oh, _fuck_ , both."

Bucky knows they’re going to be at the center of the battle that’s coming, and he is satisfied that Steve is fully onboard, so why shouldn't they enjoy each other?

Steve shakes in his embrace, puffs of breath littered with bitten-off moans that turn into gibberish as he gets closer. Bucky brushes his fingertips down the back of Steve's thigh. "This all—"

"Yes," Steve moans.

“Okay.” Bucky laughs and cups Steve's big balls in his hand—loves the way they feel, firmness hugged by thin flesh, so mobile and vulnerable between his fingers. "How far you get with your dates?"

Steve moves as if he might want to roll onto his stomach. "Hands over clothes."

_Fuck._

Bucky has ignored his own arousal thus far—it's not demanding like Steve’s, has only recently come back to him and often hinges on memories he has a complicated relationship with—but knowing he's the first person to touch Steve's bare, aroused Mack truck of a body is enough to make his cock leak.

"I'm feeling special here," he rasps, relocating his hand to Steve's hip. "Only me, doll?"

Wetness glitters at the corners of Steve's eyes as he turns to kiss Bucky, deep and sure and nothing like last night. Bucky's heart trips over its own beat. He opens his mouth and kisses Steve hungrily, his hand traveling that dirty belly in search of Steve's cock.

"Only you." Steve cries out when Bucky fists his cock, squeezing hard up the shaft to twist his hand around the slick crown. He’s a dozen strokes in when Steve tenses up. "Buck. _Bucky_." He goes over the edge with Bucky jacking the head mercilessly, so fast his hand is a blur. Steve's come, which Bucky only got poor glimpses of last night, paints Bucky's hand and Steve's stomach and chest, then continues flowing, so steady and so much it can only _stream_ over Bucky's knuckles.

"When I wasn’t so sick, I'd think about this," Steve says, shattered and shaking. "When we shared a bunk in the army and I had all this—and you looked at me like I hung the moon—" He cries out when Bucky presses a fingernail into his slit, come welling up around it.

"I was jealous. Of you getting attention. Giving attention." Bucky smiles. "You and Carter seemed good. And I wasn’t right in the head after what they did to me. Was better to watch your six, kill Nazis and count my blessings."

Steve's expression softens with amusement. "Good bumper sticker."

“Now he’s got jokes.” Bucky laughs, dragging his hand down Steve's chest. "You're a mess."

"This mat is a permanent part of me now."

"Let's head up to the pool and get clean."

Steve blinks. "You haven't..."

Bucky's half-soft again. It's not a big deal for him. "Bath first, y’mook."

"But I wanna make you feel good."

Bucky's pulse leaps. "Yeah?" He leans into Steve's hand as it tucks the hair that escaped his bun behind his ear, then traces the shape of his mouth. Neck. Collarbone. Ribs. _Nipples_ —

He makes his way back to Bucky’s mouth. "I don't have to be clean for that, right?"

"Maybe not." Bucky slants the kiss deeper, still starving for it despite his own suggestion. "But I gotta be, for what I want."

Steve groans, licking into Bucky’s mouth. "What do you want?"

"March your ass up that hill, soldier, and you'll find out."

 

*

 

After taking care of some necessities, they head up to their spot. It's different in daylight—alive with moist heat and activity.

Bucky leaves most of their things under the shade of a tree but brings a clean rag and a lump of soap to the water's edge. Steve is already waist-deep, naked as a jaybird. He throws the rag and soap—Steve catches them effortlessly—and then takes off his robe and wades into the blissfully cool water.

Steve washes himself briskly. Bucky is almost disappointed, and then—

"Can I wash you?" Steve rolls his eyes at the look on Bucky's face. "You did it for me all the time."

_That was before I made you come until you passed out._

But he isn’t protesting; this ain’t no bottom-row carnival prize.

Steve lathers broad swathes of Bucky's body before going back to scrub him down, working the soap in thoroughly, taking his time but not lingering long enough to make Bucky feel scrutinized, especially on the side of his missing arm. Bucky sits on the rock, so Steve can reach his legs and feet. The sight of Steve bare and wet and hard, carefully tending to him drives Bucky crazy—it’s almost _worship_. He sinks back into the pool the moment Steve finishes his task, a rumbling noise bubbling up his throat as he grabs Steve firmly by the back of his neck and kisses him.

"Not done," Steve whimpers against his mouth. "Missed some of you."

Bucky pulls back to bite Steve's bottom lip before sucking it. "So finish." Awkwardly, Steve washes his ass and balls and between his legs but hesitates at his cock. Bucky reaches down and wraps Steve's hand around it, kissing below his ear. "Finish, doll." He fumbles but Bucky guides his hand. "That's it." Their eyes meet as Steve gets him hard; Bucky’s face burns. Steve pulls away to breathe but mostly stares at his hand stroking Bucky's cock, licking his kiss-swollen lips. "Those aren't pure thoughts.

"Hope not, considering where my hand is."

Bucky laughs, then hums approval when Steve gains confidence. Steve has always been fiercely determined, ready to go hard until shit gets done, but here that idiosyncrasy takes on a different shape as his inhibitions fall away.

"You had something in mind?" Steve traces the head of Bucky's cock with his thumb.

"Mm. Depends on you, doll."

Steve kisses across Bucky's collarbone as he walks them slowly against the temperature-controlled rock behind them. Without warning, he picks Bucky up and effortlessly deposits him on the flat surface.

"Thing is." Steve sinks to his knees on the sandy pool floor. "I really—" He sucks wet kisses down Bucky's chest, encouraging him to lean back on his arm. He buries his face in the hollow of Bucky's groin and inhales deeply, his big upper body enveloping Bucky, almost pinning him in place. He rubs his cheek up and down the throbbing shaft of Bucky's cock. "—want this in my mouth."

"Fuck." Bucky's cock jerks against Steve's face. "You know how?"

_I'll let you even if you don't._

Steve nuzzles open-mouthed against Bucky's cock, his eyelids fluttering shut. "I've watched porn."

_Fuck._

Bucky chases the tease, surprised by how intense the sensation from such limited contact is. Steve's flushed face boasts spiked eyelashes and drops of water glistening in his beard, and suddenly all Bucky can think about is coming on it. Soaking that beard with what's inside him, making Steve kneel there and accept every gushing pulse with an open mouth but missing on purpose just to _cover_ him in it.

"Don’t typically fly with a pilot who says he's watched a plane take off, bud, but I'm willing to work with ya." Eyes twinkling with mirth, Bucky drags Steve farther between his thighs with the heel of his left foot. "C'mere." He cards his fingers through Steve's thick hair. "You put that pretty mouth where you want, and we'll go from there."

Something loosens in Steve's shoulders at that—he folds down into Bucky's lap and kisses the tip of his cock where he's thick and ready, making a noise as he tongues it into his mouth.

"Lips over your teeth." Bucky trembles watching Steve's mouth close around him. "Hold it like you wanna stroke it." Steve smiles around his mouthful and Bucky laughs. "Yeah, I know you want to."

Bucky underestimated how _much_ Steve wants to. He barely gets out another word before Steve is taking him in like he's done this a thousand times, noises of ravenous discovery shivering out of him around the wet, hollow sound of Bucky's cock stuffing his mouth. At first, Steve is all brash determination, almost too enthusiastic, too fast, too rough, but then his throat relaxes and his spit drips down to the base of Bucky's cock and his hands fall to Bucky’s thick thighs—

"Steve. Steve, shit. _Shit_ , doll—"

—and his nose touches Bucky's pubic hair and he _swallows_ and wraps his arms around Bucky's back and pulls until he's basically impaling his throat on Bucky's cock.

Bucky thought he had his shit together, and then this _asshole_ —

He grips the back of Steve's head, slowing him down, trying to breathe, to watch, to not fuck up into that elastic heat until he chokes Steve quiet again. "Fuck. _Fuck_. Stevie. Feels good. Feels real good." He begins to thrust counterpoint to Steve's bobbing head.

Steve's eyes roll back and his nostrils flare with rapid breathing. He pulls off with a sharp inhale, webs of spit and precome draped between his parted lips. "Good?"

Bucky laughs in disbelief. Steve kisses down his shaft and back up, latching on and sucking under the glans until Bucky's making noises he hasn't made in a long time. Steve’s tongue darts out between his lips, lapping at the weeping tip, precome and spit smearing across his mouth. He moans and goes back for more, suckling and kissing and licking until Bucky looks away, panting. He’s so fucking close.

Steve pulls off with a wet pop. "Don't wanna stop."

"So, don't. Shit. Don't stop." He curls his fist into Steve’s hair. “Don’t stop.”

Steve whimpers and licks into Bucky's slit, talking around the tip. "I want it in my stomach."

"Oh my fucking _god_." Bucky starts to come, shakily feeding his cock into Steve's mouth. The second those cheeks hollow around him he lets go, heavy erratic spurts flooding Steve's mouth as Bucky holds his head still. Steve swallows around high-pitched cries that crest in his throat and vibrate around Bucky's pulsing shaft, but there's still enough left over to spill down his chin. Steve doesn't just swallow Bucky's come—he stays for goddamned dessert, whimpering and sucking until Bucky goes soft in his mouth. Only then does he stop, his eyes dark and wet, snot and come all over his face.

"How the _fuck_ ," Bucky growls, pushing Steve into the water and following.

Steve wraps his arms and legs around Bucky, forcing them to tread water. Bucky hauls Steve's legs around his waist, half-heartedly trying to clean him off, but Steve sucks Bucky’s searching fingers into his mouth as if he can't help himself, closing his eyes and nursing at them.

Bucky exhales audibly, his cock throbbing at the sight. He gently fucks his pointer and middle finger in and out of Steve’s swollen, pink-red mouth. Pressing their foreheads together, listening to the wet slosh, he rasps, “Trying to get me hard again?” He kisses down Steve’s jaw, which flexes with every suckle.

His cheeks vibrantly red, Steve releases the spit-soaked digits. “Lotta years to catch up on. How do you think I got started, huh?" He tightens his legs around Bucky's waist, pushing Bucky down to his shoulders in the water, then digs a hand into Bucky's ponytail, tearing it free of its tie. "You remember what you looked like back then? Like something out of a picture. Everyone wanted you, but you came home to me." He pulls Bucky in by his messy, thick hair, and kisses him. "Made my mouth _wet_."

Bucky kisses back, bracing his hand under Steve's thigh. "Fuck, doll."

Steve’s chest hitches, and Bucky pulls away to look at him. Their lips brush. "Keep calling me that."

Bucky closes his eyes. "Yeah? Makes you feel good?"

"Is that weird?"

"Way you turned me inside out just now, I’m sure you know what turns your crank."

They float together, Steve’s fingers wrapped around strands of Bucky's hair. He uses the grip to tip Bucky's face up, but he looks at Bucky's shoulder as he says, "Back then—"

"Fuck that." Bucky kisses Steve's neck. "You like me taking care of you?” He drags his mouth lower, kissing over Steve’s big pecs, tasting his hard nipples and worrying them with his teeth. “You threw a fit every time I tried to help you out, back then. This ain’t like that, though, huh? These greedy things just need a nice, hard touch? That hungry cock crave a man’s hand around it?” Steve makes an affirmative, eager noise and kisses Bucky until he pushes Steve’s back against a rock, holding him there with his legs. “Then fall in line, Rogers. I got you.”

 

*

 

When Bucky introduced Steve to his goats, Steve feigned disappointment. "Thought you said you had a goat _herd_? Is this a herd? Seems more like a—casual gathering."

Bucky threw a bucket of feed at his head and then chased him halfway up the mountain. After they made peace over the goats (Bucky was happy to lose _that_ afternoon), Steve took a liking to them and adopted some of Bucky's paddock duties. One morning, he heads in that direction and Bucky follows.

T'Challa approaches the paddock halfway through the morning routine.

Bucky doesn't move his hand away from Steve's lower back or interrupt the kiss he drops on Steve's shoulder. The knowing smile they receive makes Bucky's blood run hot. Everyone in the palace will find out soon that Steve is _his_ now, in a way he wasn’t before.

Steve goes red down the front of his white button-down. His mud-splattered pants only make him look more like a guilty, mischievous child caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

After a polite exchange of greetings, T'Challa speaks to Bucky privately.

"There is an arm prototype we'd like to field test. Would you come?" T’Challa watches Steve chase down a wayward goat, shouting and waving his arms. "Your, ah, man is welcome, too, of course."

 

*

 

Bucky is nervous about putting on another prosthetic, but he's been involved in the development of this one since its inception—knows it down to its last fitting—and so he powers through his less rational misgivings. He hasn't mentioned it at all to Steve, who seems content with one-armed him.

Thing is, he isn't content with one-armed him. The arm will be weaponized eventually—he doesn't want that but it's inevitable—and he could never go into battle at Steve's side without it.

Upon their arrival, they're shown to a lavish guest suite Bucky has never seen before. He wonders if this appointment is more for Steve’s benefit than his own, then considers maybe it’s for _them_.

Steve changes into his guest clothes, then explores their rooms. He comes out of the bathroom smiling playfully. "Have you seen this? Oh, man." The shirt he wears hugs his upper body, drawing attention to the width of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist.

Bucky pulls him close and nuzzles into his neck. "Looking real nice, doll."

"Buck," Steve admonishes, risking a glance around as if the walls have eyes.

The door chime goes off, interrupting them.

 

*

 

At the close of forty-eight hours of trial and error locked in a room with Shuri and her team, Bucky is superficially used to identical weight on both sides of his body again. The arm is missing finishing touches and some less vital parts but is essentially complete, a matte black vibranium piece of art. It’s deadly and strikingly beautiful, and there’s someone special he wants to show it to.

Thankfully, Shuri doesn't ask him to take it off when she dismisses him. "It's safe to wear in the palace. Alert me if anything unusual occurs—otherwise the sensors we installed will capture all essential data." She smiles. "And of course, no wandering off with it."

He bends at the waist. "Wouldn't dream of it." Over his shoulder on his way out he adds, "Princess."

"I heard that, Barnes!"

 

*

 

Steve is in one of the sparring rooms, training with a warrior Bucky recognizes by her braids. He approaches from the catwalk above, taking pleasure in watching Steve without his notice. He's wearing that blue tac suit again, only this time it looks more complete than before, and he's wielding a vibranium staff that's bright with energy, fierce determination in every line of his powerful body.

Bucky walks down the stairs that join levels, measuring his steps carefully. When he reaches the sparring mat level, he deliberately sets his feet and crosses his arms.

_Damn, that feels good._

Steve comes up out of a roll on the floor, laughing in gratitude as the warrior, a woman larger in both height and girth than he is, helps him stand. “Thank you.”

"Barnes." She nods at him as she collects her kit and disappears into the bathing rooms.

Steve's face lights up. "Bucky." At second glance, his eyes widen.

Bucky holds out his arms, unable to keep his smile from growing smarmy.

"Oh, man." Steve approaches him slowly, drinking in the sight. "Wow. That's _incredible_." They stand an arm's length apart and Steve hunches, his hands seeking pockets that aren't there. He tentatively puts a hand on Bucky's metal shoulder, and the other on his flesh one, squeezing both sides while taking in the whole picture. His jaw ticks. "Damn." His Adam's apple bobs. "You happy with it?"

"Sure, pal. Got a laundry list of things I've been waiting to do. Starting with this." He cups Steve's face between two hands and kisses him in the middle of the brightly lit gymnasium, ignoring the double-takes of several of its patrons (and the enthusiastic encouragement of several others). In between slow, evenly spaced, deep kisses, he murmurs, "I won't tell anyone your foot popped for me there, doll."

Steve laughs and punches him in the solar plexus so hard he grunts and feigns a tumble backwards.

Bucky raises an eyebrow from his spot on the floor. "You know what else is easier with two hands?"

 

*

 

Steve wasn't kidding about the bathroom in their guest suite. It's full of wonders—everything from the ability to make the water come out of whatever surface they want to advanced pressure and temperature controls. They find soaps and towels made of ingredients they can't identify but which smell and feel incredible. Bucky swears there's something in the air, too, that instantly relaxes; as soon as that mist hits his bare skin, his lungs expand and his muscles unwind. Between that, the new, powerful arm, and Steve's beautiful body on display all for him, he's as happy as he can ever remember being.

There's a padded, waterproof bench in a corner of the shower room where water falls like gentle rain. Bucky sits down on it, then reclines when he discovers how comfortable it is—like riding a wave, only the wave is supportive and calm. There's a beautiful landscape painted across the ceiling above him.

As subtle as a lazy lion, Steve straddles and sits down on his thighs.

Being able to wrap two hands around Steve's waist is an indescribable pleasure. Bucky slides them up from there, hooking one over Steve's shoulder and the other around his jaw. When Steve's cheeks darken beneath his thick beard, Bucky moves his metal hand from Steve's jaw to his throat, closing around and gently compressing it. Steve's eyes go wild, so Bucky loosens his grip. "Good or bad?"

"Good. But I don't wanna come yet, and if you do that—" Steve laughs, rolling his wide shoulders.

"What do you want?"

Steve lays down on top of Bucky, pushes his arms up and over his head on the bench—there's more than enough room to spread out, and it also seems to adjust to their changes in position—and kisses him, running his hands over Bucky's outstretched arms, bulging with muscle. He takes his time, nibbling and suckling metal and flesh alike. Seemingly having had his fun with that, he drags Bucky's arms back down and around his waist. They make out like teenagers, grinding together, Bucky's hands all over Steve's back, then finally braving those last few inches and cupping two handfuls of his ass.

"Yeah," Steve moans, "touch me there."

_Fuck._

Bucky slows down, kissing Steve lighter, softening his touch. Steve shivers under the warm spray, dripping, goosebumps inching across his back with every pass of Bucky's hands over his thick thighs and buttocks. He grows heavier as he gives in to how good it feels, flattening Bucky against the bench. He plays with those big round cheeks for a while, rolling and squeezing and digging his fingernails into them, then relocates his hands until Steve calms down, then repeats the process all over again.

At one point his metal hand slips in all the soap, sliding right up along Steve's crack—

" _Fuck_ ," Steve sobs, rocking his ass back and up.

"Yeah?" Bucky cups that whole sweet valley under his metal hand and presses on it.

Steve grinds their cocks together, then works his ass against Bucky's hand on the back-swing. He flushes down his chest and his cock throbs, dark, thick veins standing out along the hefty shaft.

Instead of asking Steve to move, Bucky simply yanks that beefy body up his so he can get his mouth on Steve's beautiful tits. Like this, they're pressed so tightly together that there's almost full cleavage. Bucky grips one while sucking and biting the other, then switches, going back and forth until there are individual fingermarks visible on those mounds and Steve's nipples are swollen and pointed. All the while he denies Steve the direct pressure of his hand, teasing every inch of skin between his balls and sacrum but no more. The soap slowed Steve down but their bellies are rinsed of it now and their cocks keep catching and Steve is shaking.

"I'm close," he gasps, bending his head.

Bucky drags the tip of his metal pointer finger up Steve's crack, tracing every bumpy crinkle, circles his twitching pucker, then down again to repeat the process—with each pass it greets him more eagerly.

Steve is too stubborn to ask for what he wants, but wanting to come makes him impatient, and when Bucky settles the pad of his middle fingertip on Steve's hole and _pushes—_

Steve lifts his ass in the air and pushes his face down into Bucky's shoulder. " _Fuck me._ " Steve lifts his head while balancing on one hand, then kisses Bucky, sweet as sugar. "Please, fuck me with them."

"You ever have anything in here, doll?" Bucky switches to circular passes focused on that wrinkled rim.

Steve's cock dribbles a line of clear precome onto Bucky's chest. "Tried fingers a few times."

"Yeah?"

"Felt like. Something just in there. Weird. Uncomfortable. I was disappointed."

"Well that's a damned shame." He digs in, savoring Steve's whimpers. “Seems sweet on me, though.”

“I used to fantasize about that metal arm.” Steve rocks on his hands and knees, his head back and cock flushed dark—it's so big it doesn't curve, only hangs there weighed down by its own oppression. His desperation gains momentum. "About you finding me, trying to complete your mission but instead I—make you want me and you—hold me down and make me—t-take your fingers, wherever you wanted to—stick them in me—"

“Yeah,” Bucky rasps. “Talk to me.” With a thick lather of soap at hand, he firmly, carefully curves two of his fingers into Steve's ass, side by side, staggered so one eases the passage of the other—but the metal fingers are big and don't give. Steve's going to feel them. He _wants_ Steve to feel them.

“Felt wrong to think about it like that. Wasn't all the time. But some nights—some nights I might've let you do fucking anything to me—” Steve cries out and sits up on his knees.

It's too awkward an angle and he's too far away, so Bucky clasps him by the throat and drags him back down, which makes his pupils blow wide open. Bucky squeezes his throat and continues filling him without allowing him to look away. "You like it rough, doll?" Something darker in that loving growl, a note singing out, _we haven't been here before_.

Steve's face goes dark red above Bucky's closed fist. His jaw is slack. "Yeah. _Yes_. Bucky—"

The only noise in the room is the hush of falling water and the ones Steve makes as his hole stretches around Bucky's unyielding metal fingers. Bucky bites his shoulder, hard enough to leave blood-flushed marks, then kisses up the blood-hot column of his arched throat. “That's it. There we go.” With something else in mind, he gently withdraws—Steve's little hole is already so puffy and open—but Steve tightens up, trying to keep him inside. "Shh. I'm not leaving for long, doll." He bypasses Steve's cock to cup his balls, then slides his fingers back where they want to be. "Now sit up and lean back for me." Steve makes a soft, breathy noise. It takes a few minutes but Steve's prostate firms up enough for Bucky to find it. If Steve never succeeded with solo experimentation, it's possible he's never felt—

"Fuck! _What_ —"

_Oh hell yes._

Steve is comfortably loose now, sitting down on Bucky's rocking, thrusting fingers. It's as if his body betrays him—he's twisting away, then straining forward, making faces that don't specify pain or pleasure, only the potential for both. He's falling apart, well beyond his established boundaries, and Bucky is _making him_.

"Feels weird," Steve gasps, listing forward, rocking backward, knees spread wide.

"Long as that's okay, you just keep me in." Bucky cups Steve's throat with his flesh hand, pins where he must to make that breath catch, to deny Steve just enough air to make him dizzy. "Yeah, now you're giving in, huh? Just needed a strong hand around this pretty throat to get you there.” He slicks his hand with soap and returns with three digits instead of two, making Steve wince and moan. “Good?”

Steve sits down, hard, and then rolls his pelvis forward, dragging Bucky's fingers across his swollen prostate. "Ha- _haa_ -hngh!" A clear line of drool curls down the side of his chin.

Bucky's thighs set the pace, moving Steve on his fingers. "Yeah. Nice and snug up in there. Can't get any deeper." He licks his lips. “Fuck, way you're using my hand—yeah, you get it now, huh? Taking three like it's nothing, that's my good girl—”

Steve goes frantic on top of him, rocking the whole damned bench—something, somewhere cracks—sobbing, unconsciously squeezing his own left tit and nipple as he comes untouched all over himself and Bucky, fucking his prostate over three of Bucky's fingers taken all the way down to the last vibranium knuckle.

The soap they used as lubricant dried up long ago so Bucky is careful pulling out. Steve sags against him, wheezing sharp sobs.

Bucky sits up in one smooth motion, wraps his arms around Steve and stands.

Steve grunts in surprise. "What—"

Bucky hauls Steve's legs around his waist and slams him into the nearest vertical surface. The tile gives in places, and Bucky's metal hand punches straight through and lodges at least two inches deep. He holds Steve up with his other arm and kisses him, sucking his tongue and rocking him into the wall.

He can't stand it. He needs to see.

He drops Steve's legs, compensating by catching him around the waist. He turns Steve belly-first into the wall, forcing his arms up above his head. He kisses between Steve's massive shoulders, then licks down his spine all the way to the crack of his ass, kneeling on the shower floor.

"Oh, my god," Steve moans.

"Show me."

Steve's voice is high and strained. "L-like this...?"

Bucky cups Steve's cheeks, one in each hand, and lifts and separates them, crooning softly. "All messy down here." He kisses along the inside of each high, heavy cheek, groaning when Steve gives in and spreads his big feet apart on the wet tile. He rinses soap off as he goes, encouraging Steve to stick his ass out, as much to catch the water as to see him present. At that, he can't stop himself from kissing that stretched, abused hole.

“Buck,” Steve moans. “Oh my god, are you sure?”

He holds Steve open and licks up the crack of his ass. “Need—need it. Need you, fuck.”

On his knees with Steve's hole soft around his tongue, the arousal he's ignored all this time becomes suddenly unbearable; his dick is dark and standing up and his balls are so full they hurt. He wanted to make Steve come again like this, but he has to come. Pulling back, he rakes his fingernails up Steve's ass and lower back, leaving raised trails in his wake. Steve cries out, shivering, clutching the wall—his fists have made indentations there, too.

Bucky rises to his feet, puts one hand on either side of Steve's shoulders and pushes him down and around onto his knees. Heat crackles down his spine at the ease with which Steve goes, staring up at him in fractured awe, hands on his own thighs and a welcoming tilt to his jaw. They don't speak. Bucky strokes himself in front of Steve's face, then gathers Steve's hair in his metal fist.

Pupils wide. Drool at the corners of Steve's mouth. "B-Buck."

Bucky tips his face up. "How we doing, doll?"

"Mm." Steve's eyelids flutter sleepily.

"Not gonna use you long. But a little. And hard. Okay?" Steve nods. Bucky taps his jaw and he drops it instantly, followed by a groan that turns into a moan when he swallows Bucky's cock. "There we go. Mm, that's my best guy." They've done this before, so Bucky doesn't hesitate to line himself up, hold Steve by his hair and fuck his mouth. The soft, wet _gluck gluck gluck_ fills the room, echoing off the walls and ceiling as Steve chokes and gags and takes it, mouth open as wide as he can stretch it.

He pulls off to breathe, his eyes rolled back, his mouth swollen, the tear and snot tracks lining his face disappearing under the water fall. "Come on." He claws at Bucky's hips. "C'mon."

"Hey," Bucky breathes, roughly stroking his scalp. "Slow down." He traces the circle of Steve's waiting mouth with the head of his cock. Slowly, careful to get precome everywhere. Only then does he begin jacking himself again. Steve whimpers like a puppy waiting for milk, and Bucky is suddenly _right_ fucking there. He doesn't know exactly what Steve wants but fuck, _fuck_ —

The shush of Bucky's fist on himself. Patter of water on tile. Steve panting.

An embarrassed rush, Steve's face against Bucky's cock, "D'you wanna come on my face?"

"Oh, _fuh-uck_."

Steve barely has his eyes closed before he nearly disappears under the onslaught, his mouth and beard and cheeks and forehead painted over and over again. There are come strings between his parted lips and coating each one of his thick eyelashes. Bucky comes again at the sight, weaker strands falling, dangling, clinging—and Steve moans hungrily and licks them all the way up to the head where he swallows, taking Bucky's softening length into his mouth and throat, continuing to bob on it.

When it's over, Steve shivers and breathes faster. He seems out of it, so Bucky helps him stand, cleans them both off, then flat-out uses his arm strength alone to fireman carry Steve into the bedroom.

The evening meal was delivered while they were otherwise occupied—Bucky has never been more thankful for the sound-proofing option in Wakandan bathrooms.

He lays Steve out on a lounge near the floor length windows, then brings him sweet but light things to eat. He perks up at the sugar, demolishing a whole tray of fruit by himself. After a long silence, he reaches out to Bucky who is sitting in a chair beside the lounge to give him some space.

"That was intense." Steve smiles, rolling his head against the back of the lounge. He exhales—his crow's feet visibly deepen—and relaxes into the cushions. "We broke the bathroom. Wasn't that supposed to be impossible?"

Bucky blinks. "Uh."

(They never let Bucky forget the broken bathroom.)

 

*

 

They spend two days apart. Bucky isn't sure what exactly prompts the mutual backing off—only that it turns out to be a good thing. Some of his feathers are ruffled and that’s no one’s fault; a lot happened between them in a short time and he knows Steve would agree with him.

He meditates, sleeps in a healing chamber and works his way through several grueling training exercises. He assesses his new arm continuously throughout, allowing it to become a part of him.

 

*

 

On the third day, Bucky returns to their rooms. He doesn't want to sleep alone again and hopes Steve feels the same way. He's surprised to smell food before anything else—there is stew, flatbread, and a platter of roasted vegetables on their table. Soft music fills the room with sound.

Steve moves around the table, opening food containers in nothing but a pair of pink pajama bottoms. He hums and shuffles awkwardly to the music.

Chest aching, Bucky comes up behind him and puts his arms around Steve's waist, nuzzling the back of his neck and flattening two hands over his chest. "Miss me?"

Steve turns in his arms and kisses him, exhaling relief. "Little bit."

Bucky holds onto Steve’s waist and walks him backwards, kissing him with each step. "You hungry?"

Steve laughs into the kiss, clearly delighted. "For?"

The raised area the bed sits on is ringed with light that emanates from the floor beneath it. It’s beautiful, but right now Bucky wants only candlelight, so he waves his hand over the platform beside the bed until the lights go dark. Rising drum beat swims around them as he presses Steve down into the sheets, lays on top of him and gathers him up like he was ninety-eight pounds again.

"Food'll keep." He noses down Steve’s chest and belly, inhaling through his nose as he approaches his prize. Steve’s big body twitches under him, clearly wanting to fold up smaller. "C'mere, doll. Might've changed my mind about having a taste after all."

Steve’s hips lift even as he says, "You don’t have to. I know it's a lot."

Bucky laughter rumbles against his massive, rock-hard thigh. "Think you're intimidating, huh?" Joke's aside, Bucky underestimated what it would be like down here with Steve trying to wrap around him, his huge cock so sloppy with precome it's almost embarrassing itself. It's the tangy smell that makes Bucky's mouth flood with saliva. He groans, rubbing it out to its full, glorious length. He has the patience to give it four or five good base-to-tip tugs before the smell of sweat and precome drive him insane and he sinks down on that shaft with a hungry groan.

"Oh, _god_. Oh fuck." Steve's thighs spread apart. His hands don't know what to do—one sinks into his own hair and the other hovers over Bucky's. After only a few minutes of steady, deep sucking, Steve touches his jaw. "Wait." Bucky's cock throbs in protest. Steve pants. "I'm close."

"Mm." Bucky sucks kisses around the base of his pulsing shaft, then takes his balls into his mouth one at a time, soaking them with saliva and mapping them with his tongue.

Steve stops him a second time, breathing hard, red right down his mile-wide chest. "Come up here?" He rolls them over when Bucky gets there, kissing him and straddling his waist.

They pause to sample the drinks set on their bedside table—some sweet, some acidic, and some laced with an herb that surprisingly makes him feel tipsy. The music rises in tempo, and the inside of Steve's mouth tastes sweet. Bucky touches wherever his fingers reach, almost high on the permission to do so.

When Steve starts rocking into the hands Bucky has at the small of his back, Bucky kisses down his fever-hot throat. Steve whimpers, his big cock hanging at an angle out of the waistband of his pants, weighing them down. Bucky eases the material off his legs.

"Sit up against the headboard?" Steve asks.

Bucky does as requested. Steve crawls into his lap and they start all over again, only now it's easier to grind against Steve's ass while they kiss, hands on beards, in hair and closing greedily over wide shoulders and thick biceps. Steve kisses the side of his neck. "Mm, why are you still dressed?"

"You got designs on my virtue, Rogers?"

Eyes crinkling, Steve cards his fingers through Bucky's beard and hair, messing up his ponytail before removing its tie and burying his face in the sweet-smelling strands. "Matter of fact, yeah." He kisses Bucky's cheeks and down his jaw, snuffling and tasting like an overgrown puppy. "I think I do."

Bucky lifts up so Steve can untie his robe. Steve's hands map his torso, rubbing his nipples and tickling his ribs. He wraps his hand around Bucky's cock and discovers how ready he is. "God, you could drive nails, Buck." Bucky cups Steve's ass to steady the eager heft of him, but that only seems to further rile him up. "I don't care about coming." He rocks his ass against Bucky's cock, lowers his voice and strokes up the back of Bucky's neck and into his hair. He presses their foreheads together and their noses side-by-side. His whisper is hot and heavy against Bucky's lips. "I just want you in me."

_Fuck._

Bucky cups Steve's face in his flesh hand, pulling back to look at him, at the sheer unbridled naked _bulk_ of him in the candlelight. He rolls them over, putting Steve underneath him. With his nose buried in the hair above Steve's temple, he murmurs, "Pot of oil next to you."

Steve blushes down to his navel as the implication dawns on him. "Oh."

Bucky sets the oil in reach but doesn't open it yet, more than happy to press Steve into the bed and kiss him until he's excited again. Only then does he deliberately draw Steve's big legs around his waist, bending them at the knee and tipping them back. "Hand me that pillow, doll." Once Steve is comfortable, Bucky wraps his metal hand around his cock and strokes it.

Steve's precome-streaked belly draws up sharply between his ribs. "F-fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_."

Bucky maintains the same pace but lets Steve push up into his fist. "Don't come. Keep it all in."

"Fuck!"

Groaning, Bucky reaches for the oil pot. Steve watches him search through thick, lowered eyelashes, then slides an oil-slick hand down the center of his chest toward his belly and straining cock. "Can I do it?" He works his other slippery hand up and down Bucky's cock. "Put you in?" His forehead creases as he lifts his hips and rubs the drooling tip of Bucky's cock down his perineum.

_Jesus, Mary and Joseph._

Unable to watch any longer without considering coming all over Steve's cock and balls, Bucky digs his metal fingers into Steve's hip and drags that leg up around the middle of his back.

Steve slides Bucky's cock down between his big, slick, spread cheeks.

"It's gonna hurt," Bucky warns, but he's already up on his knees.

Steve dials the head around his pucker, rubbing against it. "I don't care." He lifts his ass off the pillow and gasps when Bucky sets his own pelvis, giving Steve something to push against. " _Oh my god_."

Bucky fills his palm with oil and slicks his cock and Steve's ass. His hand barely has a chance to relocate before Steve open up around him, the elastic grip of his rim so tight it pinches. "Fuck." He tips Steve's pelvis back towards his upper body, lifting his bent legs in the air. He breathes frantically through his nose, the muscles of his neck and shoulders straining and his eyes wet. Bucky strokes the back of his trembling thighs, leaning over to kiss him quiet. “You wet enough for me, doll?”

Steve moans into his mouth.

He braces his metal hand on the headboard and pushes into Steve's ass in one slow thrust. Steve sobs as Bucky flattens his big body in half on the bed, making it creak beneath them, then goes still, giving Steve time to adjust. His ass is like a goddamned vice; there is too little oil, but he won't let Bucky stop, kissing all over his face and neck and chest like begging. So Bucky gives it to him—hard, steady, balls-deep strokes until he's loose and not making that pained whimper any more, then hammering him into the mattress like a machine after he starts to enjoy it.

He comes the first time from nothing but being ground into the mattress by Bucky's cock. The second time, Bucky fucks over his prostate until Steve puts a hand around himself and shoots up his own chest.

"Hurting?" Bucky asks, after slowing down over the course of several minutes.

"Perfect." Steve braces his heels on Bucky's back. "P-perfect oh _fuck_ , don't stop—"

Bucky breathes raggedly. "Not even hard anymore but you're still going off for me?"

Steve's third orgasm is as dry as the Sahara, his shrunken cock convulsing on his thigh as Bucky fucks him and feeds two metal fingers into his mouth at the same time.

After, he kisses Bucky's spit-soaked fingers. "I don't want to, not again."

Bucky goes deep and stays there. "Want me to finish?"

Steve holds his spent cock and balls in one protective hand. Otherwise, he's just _taking_ it. "Yes."

Without separating them, Bucky lifts Steve up and into his lap. Steve gasps and resettles, taking Bucky all the way back inside as they wind their legs and arms around each other.

Steve opens his eyes, seating himself with a soft grunt. "Stay in me.” He takes each rolling thrust deep enough to punch the air out of both their lungs and make his voice break. “I want every drop of it.”

Bucky folds Steve into his body as he comes for what feels like minutes, his ears ringing and his vision blacked out almost the entire time. All he feels is Steve doing a rag doll impression on his lap. He brushes his thumb across Steve's trembling lips. "Hey." He pushes hair off Steve's face. "I've loved you my whole life, doll. And I always will. I ever let you forget that, you check me."

Steve lowers his head to Bucky's shoulder. "You got it, pal."

 

*

 

Sometime before dawn, a phone rings in the depths of Steve's satchel.

Bucky sits up, frowning into the darkness. “Steve?”

Steve rises from their bed. “Have to take this. Go back to sleep.”

 

*

 

Steve is gone from the palace in the morning.

Through the grapevine, Bucky learns what happened.

 

*

 

It's not saying goodbye that's hard. It's having a reason not to _want_ to that guts him.

 

*

 

The arm has to come off before Bucky goes after Steve, which works out; it was scheduled to be removed this morning anyway. In exchange for the prototype, they fit him with a prosthetic of identical weight. Though the substitute has no interesting enhancements it functions like a normal hand, which is more than enough for him. He still isn’t happy about the disappearing act, but it didn't surprise him; Steve ain't exactly known for subtle gestures.

After leaving the palace, Bucky goes to their spot.

Steve sits beside the pool with a baby goat and a bottle of formula in his lap. There’s a burner phone beside him on the grass. Bucky’s throat closes up.

“I dunno what’s wrong,” Steve says. “Her mom won’t let her feed.”

Bucky sits down next to him. “You were gone when I woke up.”

“I’m sorry.”

His mouth twists. “Now I know it's bad. You apologized.”

Steve’s expression softens. “I meant it.”

_That’s what scares me._

They sit in silence for a while.

Steve picks up the burner phone and runs his thumb over the flip-cover. He stares out over the water. “Ask me to stay.” He turns his face in Bucky’s direction. “Tell me to stay.”

_God-fuckin’-damn it._

Bucky runs his flesh hand over his face. The words stick in his throat. “I can’t, doll. And you know what else? I wouldn't even if I could, because you don’t want me to.”

Anger flares in Steve’s eyes. “You don’t know that.”

Bucky's voice raises in a way that now feels unfamiliar. “Yeah, I fucking do.” He takes Steve’s face in his metal hand. He hates feeling this much—it’s like standing under a spotlight when all he wants is to disappear. “You know why?” His eyes sting. “Because I want you to go out there and do what you do best. Because I know you’re one of the only people who can do it.” Steve stares at him like he’s seen a ghost. “And I can’t follow you, not like this. So you gotta—you gotta go.”

Steve inhales through his nose and squares his shoulders. He draws his arm back and releases it, lobbing the phone into the pool, where it sinks with a soft splash. “I go now, I’m doing it my way.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Of course you are.” He smacks Steve’s arm. “And hey, aren't you always telling me polluting is bad? Go get that phone, soldier.”

Steve laughs wetly and smiles, shaking his head. “Sir, yes, sir.”

 

*

 

Steve's shuttle lands on the uninhabited side of the lake exactly on time, as expected.

They’ve already said their private goodbyes—four happy hours Bucky will remember later when he’s bunking alone. He doesn’t mention he also let the kids fill Steve’s satchel with presents _and_ pranks when Steve wasn’t looking. That’ll be a nice surprise for him later.

Letting go of Steve after a final lingering-but-restrained parting kiss is like losing his arm all over again. When they separate, Steve immediately hides his face in Bucky’s hair.

“I embarrass you in front of your friends, doll?” Bucky looks over Steve's shoulder at the tittering shuttle crew.

Steve straightens up to his full height. “Huh, maybe. I’m not even gone yet and that beard’s already lookin’ a little rough—"

Bucky laughs, cuffing Steve upside the head before using the same grip to pull him into one last hug. “Tell you what, pal.” Steve slides out of his arms and slowly walks backwards away from him. “Next time?” He raises his voice to be heard over the faint but deep hum of the shuttle taking off. “I’ll make sure to shine up real nice for ya!”

Laughing, Steve hangs out the side of the craft as it rises into the air. “Promises, promises, Buck!”


End file.
